Hermione Granger's Diary: Year 1
by HermioneWriter
Summary: Hello! My name is Hermione Granger, and up until recently, I thought I was just an average girl. But then I got the letter from Hogwarts...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello all! I want to take the time to thank you in advance for reading this story. Even if you never read beyond this first part, that's all right. I appreciate you devoting any length of time to this regardless. A few things before you begin reading: This diary is currently being posted in real time on tumblr. For a link to the blog, see the link on my profile for Hermione-Grangers-Blog. I've decided to begin posting what I've put onto the blog on this website, because I needed an easier way to archive. As it was, people had to scroll through multiple pages to get back to the very beginning which really wasn't fair in the long-run. I was originally going to wait until the end of the school year, but this is good enough. Also bear in mind that I am American, but I'm trying to make this as authentically British as possible. If you spot any inaccuracies, please let me know what I need to change so that this actually reads like Hermione wrote it. And finally, I do not own Hermione, her parents, or anyone else in the Harry Potter universe. On the whole, the beautiful characters I have the pleasure of writing about were invented by the marvelous J.K. Rowling. I wish I was her, but I'm not._

**11 June – 19 July 1991**

11 June 1991: Tuesday

Hello dear diary. My name is Hermione Jean Granger. I'm eleven years old and enjoy reading, playing piano, and writing essays. My parents bought you for me so that I could write about my new school experience. I was recently accepted at Welsley's Academy for Girls, a private school in Wales and I'll be leaving at the beginning of September. I rather wanted to continue going to public school, since my friend Samantha is continuing here in Wandsworth, but Mum and Dad (particularly Mum) absolutely insist that I get the best education they can afford. They don't think I can do that here.

It's not like I have that many friends here, I guess. I have Samantha, who I don't see much since her parents think I'm strange. We bonded at school, though because we both love learning so much. Everyone else at school seemed to dislike us both, particularly me. I don't blame them. I suppose I am a little weird. I do work hard on my school work, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't smart.

But weird things also tend to happen around me. I can't really explain them…they just do. For instance, yesterday I broke one of my Mum's favourite china cups. I was so frustrated with myself, but when I went to pick it up, it fixed in my hand. I don't know how these things happen either and for some reason, it seems to worry everyone around me when I do it. Even Mum and Dad look at me like I'm dangerous, which doesn't make sense because anytime these strange things happen, it seems helpful. The only person who isn't bothered by it is Samantha, which I suppose is why I sort of wish I could stay here. I can't imagine the girls at Welsley's being very nice about it.

Not to mention it's really hard for me to make friends to begin with. I don't know why, but I always bring out the worst in people. I'll say something and they'll snort or make some sort of rude comment, even though I don't feel like I ever deserve that kind of treatment.

So you can probably tell that I'm nervous about leaving. I really am. I'm excited, of course. It will definitely be a new opportunity to learn new things, and I suppose I could try to change myself and act differently to get new friends. At the same time, I just don't want to go back to having no friends and I really don't fancy having to explain to people again that weird things just happen around me. I have a feeling that I'm going to be using you a lot within the next year.

14 June 1991: Friday

Samantha visited today. Her, Mum, and I made biscuits and watched The Little Mermaid. It was a wonderful day. Mum, of course, is taking time off, because she's three months pregnant and keeps getting sick all of the time. She acted like she was going to get ill while we were baking, but luckily today was a good day for her.

I don't know how I feel yet about being an older sister. I'm going to be so much older than he or she. I'm happy for Mum and Dad, of course. They have been trying to have another baby since I was a toddler, but it's been difficult I guess. I remember Mum and Dad seeming frustrated and crying a lot when I was younger, because Mum kept getting her hopes up, only to have them crushed over and over. I really want to see them happy and getting what they want. At the same time, though, I quite enjoy being the only child. I've never had to worry about my parents being too busy for me. I know this probably sounds selfish, but I like having them to myself. I don't want to have to share them.

It's probably just nerves though. I have a lot to be worried about—school, being an older sister, having to make new friends. I guess I'm just so upset because I feel like I need my parents now more than ever. I'll get over it.

5 July 1991: Friday

Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been at a loss for words. Only one thing keeps going through my mind: I'm a horrible person.

On 20 June, my Mum miscarried. I wasn't allowed to go to hospital with them and spent the night with Granny Granger. Nobody told me what was happening until it was over, when my Dad showed up to let me know that Mum was resting at home and that I was no longer going to be a sister.

I feel like this is my fault. I wrote about not wanting to be a sister, not wanting to share my parents with another kid. Weird things happen around me all the time. What if I made this happen?

I haven't told Mum and Dad about my worries. Mum spends most of her time in her bedroom. She hasn't gone into her office at all since the miscarriage. And Dad's been working, cleaning, cooking, and shopping. He's working full time as both parents. I can't burden either of them with this.

I don't know what to do. This is all too much to worry about. Maybe I'll talk to Samantha about it…

6 July 1991: Saturday

Samantha visited today. She brought flowers she picked from her garden for Mum. It was sweet, but it made Mum cry.

Once things settled down, we went to my room to talk about everything. I told her about my fears, and Samantha immediately started trying to make me feel better. 'Yes, strange things happen around you, but it's never been anything so horrid!' she argued. 'And besides, your Mum and Dad have always had problems with this. As sad as it is, it shouldn't be surprising and you shouldn't think it's your fault.'

Samantha has the beautiful talent of being the level-headed one of both of us, which is really saying something, since I'm usually very logical. Still, I let my emotions rule me more often than she does, while Samantha always relies purely on facts. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.

She was right about everything, of course. There hasn't been a single time in my memory in which my strangeness hasn't been beneficial. I'm always fixing broken things, getting people who don't deserve to be in trouble out of it, and cheering the people I love up without even trying. Even when I was a baby, back further than my memory, the weird things that happened were always good. For example, my Mum slipped on ice while carrying me to the front door of her parents' for their Christmas party; before we hit the ground we miraculously stopped and floated upright. Never have me or my strange abilities hurt anyone.

And yes, my parents have always had a hard time with pregnancy. Mum miscarried twice before I was finally born. I was a miracle, because in her fourth month of pregnancy with me, she became really sick, just like with this most recent baby. The doctor said she would never make it to full-term and I would probably die, but then I was born when my Mum was nearly eight months pregnant, a little early but completely healthy and most definitely alive.

They haven't been able to have a child since then, though, and we were really hopeful that this time, it would work out. I'm still worried that maybe my musings in this diary played a part. I'm going to trust Samantha's judgment, though. She's always so level-headed that I'm inclined to believe she's right.

8 July 1991: Monday

It was a good day. Mum left her room and stayed out and about for a long while. She actually started rereading _Pride and Prejudice_, one of her favourites. I promised her that I would take it with me to Welsley's so we could have something to discuss over my holiday break.

Also, Dad came home with some of my books for school! I was a little disappointed that he didn't take me shopping with him, but he said, "I don't think I could have pulled you out of that bookstore. We would have been there for ages."

I'm now the proud owner of _Intermediate Algebra_ (my maths placement score was high, so I'll be taking it with second years), _The History of Great Britain_ (a HUGE book that I'm dying to read), _Mastering Chemistry_, and _Great Poets of Britain_. I still have four more books to buy and I'm not going to let my Dad get them without me. I made him promise me that next Saturday he'll take me back to that bookstore to get the rest of my things. We can't go this coming Saturday, because it's Grandpa Johnson's birthday party, and really, how fair would it be if I received a present on his birthday?

Going to break out _The History of Great Britain_ now.

9 July 1991: Tuesday

Places I want to visit before I'm an adult:

- Stonehenge

- Hadrian's Wall

- Avebury

- Bath

- The Scottish Highlands

Everything in my book is so fascinating. I'm now going through the Roman occupation. I feel bad for the Celts and the prehistoric peoples of Britain, but I suppose along with the Romans came roads, walls, and cities. Still, there's something romantic (no pun intended) about the Celts. They were so…mystical. So magical. They believed everything in nature was balanced with some sort of supernatural element. While the Romans—although believers of several gods—were rigid and scientific. Kind of like me, really.

I can't help but wish I could believe in magic like the Celts. It would be nice to just have faith in something, to believe that the world is more than just a lump of dirt in orbit around a star. I'm just too educated, I guess.

13 July 1991: Saturday

Grandpa's party was fun. I got to see my cousins Maisy and Miles (they're Mum's brother Keith's children). They're not quite like me. Miles is my age and more athletic than me. All he ever wants to talk about is football. He's a huge Liverpool fan and he constantly asks my opinions on This Player and That Player, none of whom I've ever heard of and none of whom I can remember now. I just guessed at what he wanted me to say, and was, more often than not, dead wrong.

Maisy, meanwhile, is two years older than me, and much more focused on boys than I ever want to be. She also attends Welsley's, so I figure if I have a hard time making friends, I can always turn to her. Of course, she's not quite who I look for in a friend. She's rather dark and poetically deep, which I've never understood. She keeps a journal like me, but instead of just writing about her day, she writes poems about death and despair. She showed me a few of them, and I felt rather depressed afterward.

At least Mum and Dad let me have a sliver of cake. That was nice.

15 July 1991: Monday

Today was supposed to be a good day. Mum went into her dental practice for the first time since the miscarriage, Samantha came over to discuss _The History of Great Britain_ with me, and tonight my Dad promised to cook my favourite soup (French onion).

But then the post came.

If there's one thing my parents hate, it's coming home to their bills sitting in the entrance hall and accidentally trodding all over them. So as soon as I heard the mail slot rattling with the post, I put _The History of Great Britain_ down on the table in front of the sofa and went into the foyer to retrieve it. Usually I don't look at the envelopes and check what we get in the post, mainly because I never get anything myself. But today I was curious to see if Welsley's had sent me a revised booklist (I'm desperate for more reading material), so I flipped through the letters.

On the very bottom of the stack was a letter addressed to me! But it wasn't like normal post, where it's only marked for the person and the address. It was as if the sender was unsure how the Royal Mail system worked. There was no return address, and on the front of the envelope was written:

Miss Hermione Granger  
Cosy Upstairs Bedroom  
33 Rose Hill Avenue  
Wandsworth, Greater London

I really don't know what my bedroom has to do with the post, or how the sender found out it's cosy, but I was a little put out by the letter from the off. I wasn't sure what to expect. Part of me was curious enough to want to open it in the hallway, but I figured Samantha might be interested, so I brought it into the living room.

We inspected the outside of the envelope first. It was made of thick parchment not unlike something you would see with a wedding invitation. But I don't know anyone getting married, and if I did, I doubt they would invite me to their wedding but forget to invite my parents. Still, the calligraphy of the address was beautifully done, almost professional, so I didn't rule out a wedding as my fingers glided over the silvery green ink. The back of the letter was sealed with red wax, stamped tight with a coat of arms I had never seen before. I couldn't make out the shapes on the wax seal very well, but I could recognize some sort of bird and a snake.

'Oh, just open it already!' Samantha begged me. She was, perhaps, more inquisitive than I was. It's not every day that you see letters addressed specifically to a bedroom and sealed with mysterious coats of arms. _I've_ never gotten a letter like this one before and I know Samantha hasn't either.

I peeled back the seal carefully, and pulled out a thick letter, which actually turned out to be two separate pieces of paper that were both made of the same parchment as the envelope. Upon the first page of the letter was scrawled the same beautiful calligraphy in the same silvery green ink:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

At first I couldn't process what I was reading. A huge part of me felt like a light switch had been turned on, as though I was finally getting some idea of why I've been strange my whole life. Could I be a witch? But then, reality crashed down around me. Witches and wizards aren't real. There is no such thing as Hogwarts, the International Confederation of Wizards, or Supreme Mugwumps. It was all just a bunch of nonsensical words, and I had almost made a fool of myself, because I nearly dared to believe it.

'This is some kind of sick joke!' I finally said. Beside me, Samantha sat with her jaw agape. She couldn't make a sound. 'Who would send me something like this? Why?'

'I…don't…know,' Samantha muttered. She was wearing that look—the one she wears when she's deep in thought—her blonde brows scrunching with concentration and her lips quirking to the side. 'Have you…made anyone angry recently?'

Of course I had. As nice as I am and as beneficial as my talents are, I often make people mad, because I correct them. I don't mean for them to get mad at me, of course. I only ever correct, because I want to help! I thought back to the other day, when I was at the library and Heather Bilson asked me to read over an entrance essay she was writing for Smeltings. I had to tell her to start again from scratch, because the essay was poor grammatically and not well thought out. She took offense and stomped off, nose in the air and fists clenched.

When I told Samantha, she seemed sceptical. Heather Bilson, though our age, wouldn't know what my bedroom is like and probably wouldn't have the talent to write in such beautiful calligraphy. Not to mention that she lacks the creativity to fabricate a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to tease me.

'Maybe you should look at the next sheet,' Samantha prompted, reaching out to flip through the parchment. I cast aside the first half and we read through the second together:

UNIFORM:

First year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black).

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear.

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar).

4. One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings).

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_

by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory_

by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions_

by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK.

This was the most elaborate hoax I had ever heard of. I couldn't believe that someone would actually take the time to not only send me a letter saying I'd been accepted into a school for witches, but also come up with all these strange titles for spell books.

I felt like crying. Who did I know that would be so cruel? I know the kids from my old school don't like me very well and that my intelligence is off-putting to Miles and Maisy, but would any of those people really hate me _this_ much?

'There's a postscript on the back of the first letter!' Samantha exclaimed suddenly. I jumped and snatched it from her hand and read:

P.S. A Hogwarts representative will call around your place of residence at 7:30 pm on Friday, 19 July. Please be prepared to receive their call.

So now I have that to worry about too. Is this all a joke? It seems to be. I can just imagine answering the doorbell on Friday and getting egged by rowdy teens who hate me for whatever reason.

But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there's a small part of me that wants it to be real. I've always known I'm strange…what if there's a reason behind it?

16 July 1991: Tuesday

Samantha keeps begging me to consider the idea that this might all be real. I don't know what's gotten into her. Usually she's the rational one, but here she is, harassing me over this odd letter I got yesterday as though she's a firm believer.

"It _has_ to be real! It's the only thing that makes sense! Why else can you do special things? How else would they have known your bedroom is cosy? Just hear them out!"

I haven't told Mum and Dad about the letter yet. I'm worried what they'll say. I'm sure they'd agree with me, and they'd also probably be suspicious over Samantha's behaviour. I'm starting to wonder if she might be behind the joke. I've never seen her so willing to believe a fairytale, but here she is, buying into it. It's so unlike her!

Anyway, I don't think I'll tell Mum and Dad until I know for sure. I'm going to be here at 7:30 on Friday and I'll make sure I'm the one to answer the door. That way if I am humiliated, Mum and Dad won't have to know. If this is all real (I can't believe I'm even considering the idea that it is), then I can talk to Mum and Dad about it. For now, it's best if I don't get my hopes up.

18 July 1991: Thursday

Tomorrow's the big day. I'm so nervous that I can't sit down for more than five minutes at a time. I keep trying to absorb myself in _The History of Great Britain_, but even that can't distract me. It's impossible not to imagine what some of those books on that other school list would be like. _A History of Magic_, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ all sound so much more exciting than the textbooks Dad bought me last week.

I never thought I'd ever find anything more interesting than British history, but now here I am, buying into the lie just a little bit, because it's comforting to imagine a world where I might belong for once.

19 July 1991: Friday

5:15 pm

Oh no. Dad asked if Mum and I would like to go out for dinner! Mum said she'd love to, and now I think we'll be leaving in a few minutes. What will I do?! My guest from Hogwarts is supposed to be here in a couple of hours, and knowing Dad, he'll want to take Mum to a fancy restaurant somewhere all the way across the city and by the time we get home, I'll have no chance to attend Hogwarts and my dream will be crushed!

Not that I believe in Hogwarts, of course.

6:03 pm

The car won't start. I think it's my fault. It's a brand new Honda Civic and it should run fine, but it won't even sputter. It's just sitting there, dead. This may be the first time I've been selfish with my magic.

Not magic…strangeness. Selfish strangeness.

6:17 pm

Dad's making spaghetti instead. I'm going to help, as I think busying myself with cooking will keep me from watching the front door.

6:59 pm

Table's set. We're just waiting on the garlic bread.

7:25 pm

Oh Lord, only five more minutes. I excused myself to go to the loo to write this, because I can't focus on eating. I'm so nervous that I feel sick. What if this is just a prank? What will I do if I find out Hogwarts isn't real? I know I kept telling myself that it couldn't possibly exist, but somehow I still managed to get my hopes up!

Please, oh please, oh _please_ let it be real!

_A/N: A weird place to leave off, I know, but these chunks are going to be sectioned for optimal entertainment. This seemed like the best place to finish for now. I will try to update this at least once a month (since I'm still working on this school year in real time, it limits the amount of updates). Please leave reviews to let me know what you think, and don't forget to check out the blog!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I meant to post this in time for Christmas, but I got so busy that it just sort of slipped my mind. As such, I'm intending to post another chapter within the next week. This is partly because I feel so bad that it's taken so long to post and because I feel bad that this chunk of the diary only covers three days. So Merry late Christmas! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and that you enjoy this section of the story. Remember to check out the blog (mentioned in the previous chapter), favorite/review the story if you feel compelled, and to enjoy._

_Most characters in this story are owned by J.K. Rowling and not by myself._

* * *

**19 July - 21 July 1991**

19 July 1991: Friday

11:46 pm

I can hardly contain my excitement.

How on earth can any of this be possible? I know it's real now—I've seen it for myself. And yet…it feels like a dream. Like a weird fantasy that I randomly slipped into during my dinner.

But it's real. It can't be false, because Mum and Dad know about it too, and they've said they'll think about it, and we've been talking about it for four hours now! We've only just all went to bed.

I don't know where to start. I can't sleep, so I know I have to tell you everything, but my mind is so scattered right now that telling you seems impossible. I feel like pacing, because it's the only way to keep the excitement from bubbling up and overwhelming me.

Okay, Hermione…focus.

At exactly 7:30, the doorbell rang. I had only just returned to my chair, but I jumped up as soon as the bell echoed through the house, making my parents look at me with wide-eyed wonder. I didn't care. The truth was only moments away from being revealed, and I was desperate to get it over with.

The sceptical side of me expected to open the door and hear the taunting of the local neighbourhood kids. I told myself over and over again that there was no way I'd actually see a Hogwarts representative standing on our steps. So, of course, I was surprised when a tall, slender elderly lady with square spectacles and a flowing set of robes was in my doorway.

'Miss Granger?' she asked in a thick Scottish accent. Her expression was deliciously serious, just what I would expect from a school administrator.

'Yes?'

'I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

'Who?' I had failed to notice that my Dad had followed me into the foyer and was standing behind me, staring at Professor McGonagall with an uncomfortable, albeit comical expression on his face.

Professor McGonagall returned the look, though her eyes flickered between me and my Dad, as though she was working out a puzzle. 'I take it your daughter did not inform you of the letter delivered to your home on Monday?'

'What letter?' He was now staring at me sternly, much like Professor McGonagall, although she didn't scare me as much as he did in that moment.

'Well-'

'Allow me, Miss Granger,' Professor McGonagall said, pulling a wooden stick—her wand—from the folds of her robes. '_A-key-oh Letter!_' (I don't know how to spell it just yet. If I go to the school, I'll have to research the spell as it seems useful).

The words sounded senseless, and indeed, nothing happened at first. I waited with bated breath, hoping that I hadn't received a letter from a crazy woman who picked up twigs from parks and brandished them like a wand, pretending to be the Deputy Headmistress of a fantasy school. Dad certainly seemed to think that was the case.

But then, in a whoosh, the letter came zooming through the entrance hall and into Professor McGonagall's hand. My jaw dropped and Dad fainted.

'What was that noise?' Mum had heard Dad's fall and was now bustling from the dining room. She saw him lying there on the rug and she eyed Professor McGonagall with terrified suspicion. 'Who are you?!'

'Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' she repeated. 'If you don't mind, I'll just come inside now.' She stepped over the threshold of the door, flourished her wand, pointed it at my father, and said, '_Wingardium Leviosa!_' (This spell is in one of the pamphlets McGonagall gave me, so I know I'm not wrong on its spelling). Suddenly my father was floating in midair, guided by Professor McGonagall's wand. 'We really should get him somewhere comfortable. The living room is through there, is it not?'

She levitated my father from the foyer and into the living room as though it was the most mundane chore in the world. Mum shook like a leaf, but I was uncertain if it was with fear of this new, unknown power or rage over the fact that a magical person had just invited herself into our home.

Once Dad woke up, Professor McGonagall gave them both some time to read over the letter and the list of equipment I would need if I went to Hogwarts. Dad was still sceptical (he hadn't seen the way McGonagall levitated him), and said, 'You could have found some…some _non-magical_ way to get that paper to fly to you, right? Right?!'

In reply, Professor McGonagall morphed into a cat, which caused another fainting fit.

We used smelling salts to revive Dad—which, oddly, McGonagall was carrying with her in her robes ('Sometimes people need something strong to jumpstart their senses after a terrible shock,')—and within minutes of him waking, we found ourselves immersed in magic for the first time, daring to believe in what we were being shown.

Professor McGonagall explained everything: That there's a world beyond the normal, everyday world, where magical people live and thrive. That people don't have to be born into magic to _be_ magic. That I am, even with my 'Muggle' (non-magic) parents, one of those people. That I belong in this world and I've been marked down for admission into Hogwarts ever since I was in my mother's womb.

I think that was the hardest bit of information for my parents to take in, except for me being magical to begin with. Professor McGonagall revealed to them that the only reason my parents had me is because I'm magical. I was what she called 'a fighter.' My beneficial magic helped my parents to do what most Muggles around the world cannot—have a baby when one of the parents is barren.

Mum cried and I felt horrible, but I think it answered loads of questions they've been wondering about for a while, especially since the miscarriage. Professor McGonagall was kind enough to let my mother cry a bit, and once she settled down, we continued the discussion about Hogwarts.

I'm thankful the bad news was told first, because everything after that was spectacular. McGonagall handed out several brochures to me, Mum, and Dad. Some of them went into detail about Hogwarts and its grounds, while others showed the classes first year students take and gave brief summaries (I'm too keyed up to write down all the summaries, but the classes are Astronomy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Flying, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, and Transfiguration). Then there were leaflets about the magical world, including currency, a place called Diagon Alley (the entry to which is on Charing Cross Road of all places), and the Hogwarts Express, the train that takes students to and from the school, which departs from Platform 9¾ at King's Cross.

There was so much information and so many questions flying about that I was in complete bliss. I wanted to know everything, and while my parents asked the typical Mum-and-Dad type questions ('What do you _mean_ by magic? Are you training people up to curse their enemies and practice voodoo?!' and 'Is this school safe? You're not going to indoctrinate her into some sort of cult are you?'), I hungrily read every bit of information passed to me.

'Voodoo is completely unrelated to the science of magic,' Professor McGonagall replied, and my interest was piqued by the fact that she described magic as 'science.' Only last week I was writing in here about how very different the scientific Romans were to the mystical Celts. My mistake, I guess. 'We only teach children how to control their magic so that they can pursue a career in wizardry. Nobody at Hogwarts is _trained_ to be evil or will be indoctrinated into a cult at the school.'

A career in wizardry? All of a sudden, I found myself asking about jobs in the magical world. Could you make money in magic? I had always assumed I would go into dentistry like Mum and Dad, but the idea of a magical career opened the door to all new possibilities.

Professor McGonagall—perhaps a little overwhelmed by my inquisitiveness—very patiently told me that there would be plenty of time to think on careers (seven years, actually…I would attend Hogwarts until I'm nearly 19 if I went) and that first I would have to accept my position at the school.

We talked for nearly three hours with McGonagall, and by the time she left, my parents told her they would think about it. I, of course, would have loved if they were just as excited about Hogwarts as I am, but I can understand their nervousness. This is a whole new world they're coming to terms with, after all.

I didn't go to bed without letting them know how I felt. 'I really want to go.'

'But sweetheart!' Mum replied, giving me her most worried expression. 'You have no idea what this Hogwarts will be like!'

'I think you should think on it too, Hermione, just like your Mum and I,' Dad reasoned. 'You don't want to go making a decision like this too rashly. It is your entire life we're talking about here.'

They really do have the best of intentions. Still, I couldn't stop from saying before I vaulted up the stairs for bed, 'Yes, but I can't see myself being happy as a Muggle. I don't belong in a place like Welsley's. I didn't even belong in public school! I've been bullied my whole life for being different. I'd just like to fit in with everyone else. Hogwarts will offer me that.'

I think I left them with something to think on. If they try to tell me I can't go, I'm just going to have to insist that I do. I genuinely believe Hogwarts will be the only place I'll feel content. I can't imagine leading a happy life at Welsley's knowing Hogwarts is out there and that I could have gone.

20 July 1991: Saturday

8:47 am

Was halfway through brushing my teeth before I remembered that today we're supposed to go shopping for the rest of my Welsley's books! I hope I can talk Mum and Dad into at least visiting Diagon Alley. Maybe they'll realise the wizarding world is where I belong?

7:53 pm

Well that was an interesting day. I was so excited that I forgot to grab you on the way out the door. It's probably for the best—Diagon Alley was so full of wonderful things that I don't think I would have had the time to update you on everything.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I should tell you how breakfast went first and then work my way from there.

I came downstairs dressed as though ready for a nice day of shopping. I didn't say anything to Mum and Dad about magic, Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley for fear that they would tell me they decided I couldn't go. I pretended that everything was normal, tucking into my cornflakes and casually discussing the weather.

Then, quite suddenly, I saw my mother give Dad a pointed look. He turned to me and said, 'I know I promised you we would go and get more of your Welsley's things today, but we were thinking of maybe making a trip to…to…' He seemed to be having a hard time saying it, and the longer it was drawn-out, the more my heart raced with anticipation. 'To…Charing Cross Road.'

I flew from my chair, wrapping my arms around Dad's neck and hopping up and down. Gone was the cool facade, replaced with absolute delight. 'Really, Daddy? Really? Oh, this is so wonderful!' I exclaimed.

'Just to see what all the fuss is about, you know,' he clarified, going pink in the face, but smiling regardless.

Our car miraculously worked today and we drove to a small car park a few blocks away from where the Diagon Alley leaflet said The Leaky Cauldron—a small magical pub that led to the entrance of the alley—was located. After ten minutes of wandering, I saw a shabby pub sandwiched between a music shop called Music Go 'Round and a bookstore named Peachtree. To my delight, the sign outside of the pub revealed that it was The Leaky Cauldron.

'There it is!' I said, taking hold of both of my parents' hands and dragging them across the street.

'Where?' Dad asked. His eyes flitted between Music Go 'Round and Peachtree. I was certain he was joking. _I_ could see The Leaky Cauldron. It was right there, as plain as day. But both he and Mum were watching me with worried expressions.

'Can't you see it?' I asked. They shook their heads, and I bit my lip, thinking hard. How could they be blind to an entire building? 'Maybe you can't see it, because you're Muggles? Here, let me show you.' I continued to drag them toward the pub. They tugged on my hands trying to stop me, and I imagine they must have thought I was going to walk right into a wall. I didn't let them stop me, though, and kicked open the heavy oak door to the pub, pulling Mum and Dad through with me.

I don't know what I expected. I suppose I had thought the pub would be brightly lit, clean, and organised. After all, the employees could do magic. Instead, The Leaky Cauldron was rather untidy and dark. I had to squint to get a good view of a barmaid cleaning dirty plates with a flick of her short wand. It was even harder to read the menu, which was flashing upon what looked like a blackboard above the bar:

**BUTTERBEER: 1 Sickle a Bottle**  
**FIREWHISKEY: 3 Sickles a Glass**  
**KNOTGRASS OAK MATURED MEAD: 6 Sickles a Bottle**  
**Soup of the Day: Pea**

I turned back to Mum and Dad to see their reactions, certain they would be just as curious as me. They were in complete shock. I suppose they weren't expecting to be dragged through a wall like that. Mum had a hand to her mouth, her eyes swivelling from the barmaid, to the blackboard, and then to me. Dad—never as strong as Mum—had to actually sit down.

I had no idea where to go from there. I knew there would be some sort of gateway into Diagon Alley from the pub, but I wasn't sure where it was. So I approached the bar, squeezed myself in between two people who were slurping their soup noisily and flagged down the barman.

'Excuse me!' I begged. The barman's head snapped up and he gave me a crooked grin. A few of his teeth were missing and I found myself hoping he wouldn't smile too broadly at Mum and Dad. 'Er…I'm Hermione Granger and I, erm-'

'Want to get to Diagon Alley, right?' the man interrupted. 'Muggle-born, are you?' I nodded to both questions and he offered me another grin. 'I'll show you how. JANET!'

The barmaid—Janet—looked up from the dishes she was magically cleaning. 'WOT?!'

'Watch the bar, will you? I'm taking this girl to the Alley.'

Janet left her dishes and climbed behind the bar. I beckoned for Mum and Dad to follow, but they looked wary. I suppose I can't blame them. I've never been in the habit of approaching strangers in pubs and asking them for directions. Mum wrung her hands in distress and Dad dragged his feet as he followed, no doubt certain we were about to be murdered.

The barman showed us to a back door which emptied into a cramped courtyard. I couldn't imagine that this was all there was to Diagon Alley. The leaflet had made it look like a bustling London neighbourhood, decked with shops and packed with people. I guessed the brochure was at least right about that—with the barman, Mum, Dad, and me, the tiny courtyard was so crowded that there was barely any room to move.

'Watch carefully, Miss,' the barman instructed once Dad closed the door behind him. He pulled a long wand from inside his dirty grey robes and counted the bricks up the wall opposite the back door. 'You count up from this dustbin—one, two, three—and then count over to the right—one, two.' He tapped his wand on the last brick he counted, just one tap.

As when McGonagall had summoned my acceptance letter, nothing happened at first. Then, right before our very eyes, the wall began to melt. I know that sounds impossible, a wall of solid brick melting, but it did! It twisted and morphed until there was an enormous archway leading out onto a cobble-stone street. Above the archway embossed upon a metal sign were the words, 'DIAGON ALLEY.'

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The alley was indeed as I originally imagined it. Shops lined every inch; people in cloaks bustled about, their purchases secured beneath their arms; owls swooped in and out of sight; and children were talking excitedly with their parents about Hogwarts, some of them wearing what I now realised were traditional wizard robes and others looking just has mesmerised as I was to be in this world.

'My Lord,' Dad breathed behind me.

'This is…_fantastic!_' Mum exclaimed. I beamed—it seemed that I had her convinced already.

'Now, what you'll want to do first is walk straight down the street until you reach the turn,' the barman explained. 'There'll be a white marble building there called Gringotts. It's a wizarding bank and you'll be able to exchange your Muggle currency there. Then you just go off of your school list. You've got that, don't you?'

I reached in my pocket and showed him the list that I had hastily grabbed from my room as soon as I found out we were going to Diagon Alley. The barman grinned again, and in the corner of my eye I saw Mum and Dad recoil.

'If you need any more help, just come to The Leaky Cauldron and ask for Tom,' he told me, shaking my hand and turning around in his small courtyard, back into the pub.

21 July 1991: Sunday

Sorry for stopping abruptly last night. My wrist was hurting, and I realized it was a good stopping point. Not to mention that the idea of leaving my dear diary in suspense seemed like a fun idea. Sorry.

We ambled down the street for a while, taking in all the sights, scents, and sounds. There were several shops with funny little names—Gambol and Japes, Amanuensis Quills, Wiseacre Wizarding Equipment, and Eeylop's Owl Emporium to name a few—each packed with customers. The patio of an ice cream parlour called Florean Fortescue's was completely full. A particularly foul odour was pouring out of a place called Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, and I saw that a woman had dropped a jar of pickled snails all over the shop. People were shouting at her, but a shop attendant cleared away the mess as easily as Janet cleaned the dishes in The Leaky Cauldron. I noticed other first year children begging their mothers and fathers for broomsticks, shuffling down the block with their new books under their arms, and watching passersby with just as much enthusiasm as I was.

'I can't believe I'm a wizard!' a black boy was saying to his mother with excitement as they pushed past me and my parents. He was wearing his new pointed wizard hat already. 'This is just too good to be true!'

'See?' I turned to my parents, nodding in his direction as he entered a place called The Magical Menagerie. 'I won't be the only Muggle-born!'

We saw a lot more Muggle-borns on our trip to the end of the street. A pompous looking boy was talking with a girl about how glad he was not to be going to Eton and I overheard her mention Welsley's, a scowl on her face at the idea of attending a Muggle school. I couldn't say I blamed her. After all I'd seen in the past day, I felt totally disenfranchised with the idea of Welsley's. Even my schoolbooks had lost their appeal.

Finally we came to the bend in the street. Diagon Alley made a sharp right-hand turn at Gringotts Wizard Bank and dead-ended a little ways down. I could just make out the sign for Ollivanders Wand Shop at the very end. I was itching to go and get my wand, but I knew I couldn't without two things: wizard money and my parents' permission.

I felt like it was now or never. I wanted an answer from my parents while we were here. If we just left without buying anything, the chances of actually going to Hogwarts seemed slim.

'Listen,' I said, turning to Mum and Dad with what I hoped was a pleading expression, 'I really want to go to Hogwarts. I know it seems barmy, the idea of a world of magic, and I know you're scared, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me.'

'Hermione, dear,' Dad began. His eyes shifted toward Mum and I saw her squeeze his hand reassuringly. 'Your mother and I have been discussing it since five in the morning. I would have thought it would be obvious to you what our choice is.'

'Excuse me?' I blinked, unsure of what it was that they were telling me.

'Well, why else would we bring you to Diagon Alley if we weren't going to let you go?' Mum asked with a chuckle.

I launched myself into their arms, squealing, 'Oh thank you, thank you, _thank you!_' They laughed and I was sure there were people passing by with curious looks, but I didn't care. I had just found out that I was going to be a Hogwarts student…a real life witch. Nothing could have ruined that moment.

Dad handed me a stack of £20 notes (£200 overall) and Mum and I entered Gringotts together to exchange the money for wizard cash. Dad, still jumpy at the idea of magic in general, chose to stand outside and wait for us.

The bank is beautiful. Pure white marble on the outside, the hall inside is also made of marble, though in varying shades of beige and brown. There is a long counter running the length of the hall and several doors leading to what I assume are the vaults (I'll have to read up on it a bit). Sitting along the counter are goblins—actual goblins!—who handle customer inquiries and lead customers to their vaults. At the end of the counter furthest from the door is a desk with the words, 'MUGGLE EXCHANGE' over it. Mum and I made a beeline for it and there we changed our money. £200 became 40 galleons, and we left the shop with a large bag of gold coins jingling between us.

I kept reciting to myself quietly all I had learned about wizarding money from the leaflet Professor McGonagall gave me. There are 29 bronze knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles to a galleon. That meant that the 40 galleons I had amounted to 680 sickles, or 19,720 knuts! I couldn't believe how much money I had, and even though I didn't know exactly how expensive things were in the wizarding world (do they have inflation rates and taxes?), I was confident I had more than enough.

'How did it go?' Dad asked as we stepped into the sunshine.

'Forty galleons!' I told him proudly. Both Mum and Dad shushed me, because even with all of the wonderful things that were happening, we were still in a London street and were surrounded by potential pickpockets.

'Well, I was thinking about going back to that pub,' Dad told us uncomfortably. 'I'm feeling a bit…claustrophobic.' We nodded and I handed him five galleons so he could get himself something to eat and drink at The Leaky Cauldron.

'Where should we go first?' Mum questioned, looking around. She glanced to her left toward Ollivanders and an almost child-like smile stretched across her face. 'Want to get your wand?'

'YES!' This time people really did stare at me, but neither of us cared as we pushed our way through the throng of people, marching toward the only wandmaking establishment either of us had seen so far.

Ollivanders seems like an ancient shop. The sign over the door said that they've been making wands since 382 B.C. (the original Ollivander must have been Roman! Again proof that as of a week ago, I knew nothing about magic). It's a dingy little place, the only display being a single wand upon a dusty pillow in the window. Inside were just a spindly little chair and boxes upon boxes of wands. I wanted to walk around and look at every wand I could, but I wasn't sure if I was allowed. Mr. Ollivander was, at first, nowhere to be seen, and since I had never touched anything magical before, I didn't want to make a mess of anything.

'Hello?' Mum called, placing her hands on my shoulders and shifting around to try to get a look over the counter and into the back of the store. 'Is anybody here?'

'Good day,' a wheezy voice from somewhere in the store greeted. 'First year?'

'Erm…yes,' I replied.

There was the sound of shuffling boxes, something heavy being dropped, and then Mr. Ollivander, an older gentleman with snow-white hair and a dignified face, popped up from behind the counter. I gave a startled gasp. I had expected him to be somewhere at the back of the shop, not behind the counter!

Mr. Ollivander's large eyes moved from Mum to me, then to Mum again. 'Muggle-born?' he questioned. It wasn't in an accusatory sort of way, but I found myself getting uncomfortable all the same. Why is it such a big deal to everyone I've met that my parents can't do magic? Instead of showing my annoyance, though, I nodded and Ollivander gave a small frown. 'Not to fret! We'll find the right wand for you one way or another.'

'I'm sorry, but what do you mean by that?' I asked. Mum sat down in the chair nearby. I wonder if she was as uncomfortable as I was in that moment.

'It's easier to match people with their wands if I know what sort of wand picked their parents. Which is your wand arm?'

I held up my right hand and he started to measure it with a band of measuring tape in every way possible (fingers, hand length and width, arm length, arm circumference, from armpit to the floor, and even in between my nostrils). 'It has nothing to do with your abilities, of course,' Ollivander continued, stepping back and allowing the measuring tape to continue to work. 'I trust that you're a perfectly capable witch. It just all has to do with my job. The wand chooses the wizard, you know, but it takes way less time if I have a little trail of clues to lead me to the wand in question.' I nodded as if this made sense. It honestly didn't at the time (it still doesn't really make sense…I should read about wands too), but I wasn't about to argue with him.

After he measured me, we set to trying out wands. The first few that I waved around were apparently not good enough. They didn't do anything and Ollivander snatched them from my grasp almost as soon as I picked them up. But then, on the fifth wand, I was able to make a shower of red and gold sparks.

'Excellent, Miss! Absolutely marvellous!'

So now I have a wand. 10 ¾ inches, vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core. Mr. Ollivander told me that it'll be good for transfigurations. I can't wait to actually try it out, but one of the laws of the wizarding world states that underage wizards aren't allowed to perform magic outside of school. It could result in my expulsion, so I'm honestly too scared to attempt it.

I'll spare you the details of the rest of the shops we visited. They were all fascinating, but really, I feel like I'd be writing for forever if I went into detail about every little thing I saw. I will say this: I bought my robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, my parchment, ink, and quills from a place called Scribbulus Writing Instruments, my cauldron from Potage's Cauldron Shop, potions ingredients from Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, a huge magical trunk to put all of my equipment in from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, and my books from Flourish and Blotts.

But I can't avoid talking about the bookstore. It's a cramped little space, but somehow the owners have managed to fit thousands of books inside. There are sections for every genre, such as "History", "Remedies", "Do-It-Yourself", and "Divination." I, of course, made a beeline for the section marked, "Hogwarts Textbooks." It was tough pushing my way through the crowd of students queuing to get their own books, but finally I managed to get all of mine.

I didn't want to leave after that. I wanted to look at every book I could get my hands on, and Mum was very gracious about it. She bought my schoolbooks for me at the counter and I made my way through the aisles, searching for something to buy. I still had 20 galleons (rather a surprise, since I had thought I would use up all my money) and thought I might as well do a little background reading on modern history and Hogwarts, so I'd know the sort of world I was about to enter.

Eventually I found a book called _Hogwarts, A History_. It was huge—as thick as a slab of concrete—and filled with interesting facts about the school. I knew it would tell me more than any of the pamphlets Professor McGonagall gave me, so I very happily lugged it along as I searched the history section.

I ended up buying _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ and _Modern Magical History _as well. I'm hoping that by the time I leave for Hogwarts on 1 September, I'll know everything I need to know about witchcraft and wizardry.

But first, I'm going to start with the book on Hogwarts.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hello again! Didn't I promise to update again this week? I've noticed some issues with quotation marks and spellings, so I'm going to spend the next couple of days making this story a little more consistent. This chapter should be as I want it, but I'm sure some issue will arise and I'll have to edit. Anyway, favorite/follow/comment and enjoy! _

_I do not own Harry Potter or any characters featured within the Harry Potter books. They belong to J.K. Rowling._

* * *

**22 July - 1 September 1991**

22 July 1991: Monday

There are four Hogwarts houses which all students are divided into upon arrival for their first year. According to _Hogwarts, A History_, selection for each house isn't done by a random process. It's all based on aptitude. The four houses are:

**Gryffindor:** Where all the brave, courageous, and chivalrous students go. They're often the students who find themselves in trouble, because they are unafraid to tackle problems head on. Gryffindors are prone to act on impulse and think with their heart more than they think with their brain. The house was created by Godric Gryffindor, its colours are red and gold, and they're represented by the lion.

**Hufflepuff:** For those who are loyal and hardworking. Like Gryffindor, they often find themselves in sticky situations, but only out of loyalty. Hufflepuffs rarely break rules without influence from others. They are ambitious, intelligent, and diligent. The house was created by Helga Hufflepuff, its colours are yellow and black, and they're represented by the badger.

**Ravenclaw:** Where those who are highly intelligent and wise go. More often than not, they're the students who spend most of their time in the library. Although generally seen as intelligent, they do tend to have preferred areas they are passionate about and typically enjoy debating these topics with their housemates. They are studious, confrontational, and eccentric. The house was created by Rowena Ravenclaw, its colours are blue and bronze, and they're represented by the eagle.

**Slytherin:** For all who are cunning and sly. This house prizes blood purity, although there have been some instances in which a Muggle-born is sorted into Slytherin. Usually they go to any lengths to get their way, often resulting in more successfully executed rule-breaking than their rivals in Gryffindor can achieve. People in this house are individualistic (focusing more on personal gain than on others), observant, and tend toward manipulation. The house was created by Salazar Slytherin, its colours are green and silver, and they are represented by the serpent.

Essentially, if I want to avoid breaking the rules, I'll shoot for Ravenclaw. Which, really, I can see myself fitting into quite nicely. I can just imagine how fun it would be to sit and debate my favourite subjects with other Ravenclaws.

Of course, a part of me feels overwhelmed by the idea of it. What if I'm not as intelligent as other Ravenclaws? Not to mention that there is something romantic about the idea of choosing to be brave, even when all logic tells you to turn and run.

Not that I'll ever get into that much danger at Hogwarts or anything. This is all purely hypothetical. Still…I'd like to think I'd be brave over rational if the time ever called for it.

23 July 1991: Tuesday

Reading more about Gryffindor. I know I should be more focused on what Ravenclaw is like, because it's undoubtedly where I'll be sorted, but I can't help myself. Gryffindor sounds so amazing! It's not just a place for rule-breakers and foolishly brave people. There have been several intelligent Gryffindors. In fact, according to _Hogwarts, A History_, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor! He's apparently the wisest and most talented wizard of our age, too!

Maybe Gryffindor_ is_ the place for me?

24 July 1991: Wednesday

The more I read about Slytherin, the more disgusted I am by it. Salazar Slytherin actually defected from the school in the late 10th century, because he didn't agree with Godric Gryffindor's policy of letting Muggle-borns into the school. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had no problem with it, but Slytherin was so outraged about people like me studying at Hogwarts, that he actually left!

It's a good thing Gryffindor was sensitive toward Muggle-borns. After all, based on everything that I've read, Muggle-borns are just as talented as half-blooded and pure-blooded wizards and witches. It's just a difference in culture, really.

25 July 1991: Thursday

Decided to get a move on with my school readings, since I only have 5½ weeks until the start of term. I'm going to read my schoolbooks in tandem with my pleasure readings. Started _The Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ today, since that's what Ollivander said my wand was talented with. So far, it's fascinating.

Also I'm almost done with _Hogwarts, A History._ I think I should be able to start _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ by Saturday.

26 July 1991: Friday

8:51 am

I think I'll visit Samantha today. I haven't seen her since last week and I should probably tell her everything that's been happening. I know I should keep the wizarding world a secret, but Samantha has been through everything with me since the start. She was there when I got my letter and she was there all last week when I was sceptical.

She's going to be so excited when she learns that it's real.

11:15 am

I can't begin to explain what just happened.

I walked over to Samantha's family's flat and rang the buzzer. Her mother answered the intercom and told me to go away and that Samantha doesn't want to see me. I didn't believe her at first—Mrs. Cole doesn't like me—but then after a few more minutes of ringing, Samantha came to the intercom and told me to leave.

So now I don't know what to do. Should I telephone her? I don't understand why she would be mad at me, but I guess I did something wrong.

1:19 pm

I finally rung Samantha up and got her to stay on the line.

'Why are you mad at me?' I asked.

'Oh, I don't know,' she replied in a sarcastic tone that made my stomach squirm. 'It could be because you got a mysterious letter last week and never told me how it turned out.'

That would certainly explain it.

I started to launch into the story of everything: McGonagall, magic, Diagon Alley, and my school books. But by the time I started explaining about the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Samantha finally snapped and said, 'Look, I don't care, Hermione. I'm so sick of all this. I can't have a friend who is going to belong to a different world, especially when she can't even keep in touch with me when she lives down the road. Have fun at your school.'

And she hung up.

3:31 pm

Everything's going to be all right. I just need to keep my mind occupied. I have plenty of books to last me all summer, and when I get to Hogwarts, I'm going to make a lot of new friends—friends who understand me, because they know what it's like to be different.

I don't need Samantha. I'll forgive her when she decides to apologise, but for now, I'll be fine. Only a month and five days until I catch the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross. I can do this.

Going to continue reading _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ now. There's this really interesting spell to turn forks into spoons that I'm dying to remember the incantation to.

27 July 1991: Saturday

2:11 am

Oh, dear Lord.

I decided to stay up late, because I kept thinking about Samantha. I finished _Hogwarts, A History_ and was just starting _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_, when I saw my Hogwarts letter beneath my stack of school books. I pulled it out, knowing that reading through it again would give me comfort and remind me of all of the new friends I'm sure to make.

It didn't.

Instead, I saw the following line, a sentence I had glanced over when I first got the letter:

'_We await your owl by no later than 31 July._'

My owl?! What does that mean? Am I supposed to write them back and send it with an owl? I didn't buy an owl! Dad doesn't like birds, and even though my letter said I could have a pet, I didn't know if I wanted a cat or a toad when we were in Diagon Alley.

What am I going to do? Will I lose my place at Hogwarts if I don't reply? I can't even bear to think about it. I have nothing here for me now, other than Mum and Dad, of course. How am I going to send them an owl if I don't have one?

10:02 am

I think I know what I'm going to do. I dreamed about Diagon Alley, and I realised that I can just go back and buy an owl if I need to. That is, of course, if Hogwarts doesn't send me something first. I'm going to bide my time until Wednesday (31 July). If I haven't heard anything by then, I'll make a trip to the Leaky Cauldron by myself. I know how to get there and I have plenty of galleons leftover. Not to mention I can use my bus pass to get to Charing Cross Road.

I'm not going to tell Mum and Dad about this little issue, because I don't want them changing their minds. If they get suspicious about the owl, I'll just say it was a present from Professor McGonagall or something.

Well…now that I have some sort of a plan, back to _Great Wizarding Events._

29 July 1991: Monday

Still no word from Hogwarts. I'm planning Wednesday's schedule thoroughly so that I come home before Mum and Dad get back from work.

I'm also done with _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._ Reading _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_ now. Everything in here seems simplistic—like a guide for beginning musicians or something. It's all wand movements and pronunciation. Still, because it seems so simple, I have to assume that magic isn't easy. The author—Miranda Goshawk—has to introduce spells and wand-work like this, because if she made it more complicated, it would be hard for the beginning student to grasp.

Still, I much prefer Emeric Switch's writing. It's almost as if he expects more of Transfiguration students, which is why I'm looking forward to Transfiguration most.

On a different topic, I had no idea that wizards were involved in both World War I and World War II! Apparently there were whole battalions of soldiers who were wizards, though they pretended to be Muggles when they were around ordinary soldiers. In the 1940s, they also had to fight against another threat to Europe, a Dark wizard by the name of Gellert Grindelwald, who wanted to suppress Muggles and become what my book states, 'the master of death,' whatever that means. Grindelwald was defeated in an epic duel in the 1940s between him and Albus Dumbledore! I couldn't believe it when I read it. Not only is my headmaster the wisest wizard of our age, but he's an actual war hero!

30 July 1991: Tuesday

4:15 pm

Mum is doing much better now, by the way. I realised today while I was rereading over my entries that I haven't mentioned Mum's depression or how she's coping since I got my Hogwarts letter. I've been so distracted with what is happening to me that I sort of forgot about it, which makes me feel like a horrible daughter.

Anyway, this whole Hogwarts thing has been a nice distraction for her, too. She's been reading some of my books (she's looking through _Hogwarts, A History_ as I write this, actually) and we spend a lot of time talking about what it's going to be like. I think maybe hearing the truth about why only one of her children survived in her womb has brought a level of understanding that wasn't there before. I don't know if Mum and Dad are going to try for more children, but if they do, I'll support them fully.

Dad's also reading through my school books, by the way. He says if he were magical, he'd want to do Potions, but since I've only flipped through _Magical Drafts and Potions_, I really don't know how I feel about it. Right now, Potions kind of looks like glorified cooking. I wouldn't tell Dad that, though, as he's completely enamoured with the idea of concocting a potion to cure cavities. I told him I'd look into it.

Still nothing from Hogwarts. Only one more day until the deadline…

11:22 pm

I've laid out my clothing for tomorrow. I was considering dressing in my school things, since it would be fun to wander around Diagon Alley in witch's robes, but then I thought I'd probably stick out and mark myself as Muggle-born. After all, none of the other students I saw when I was there were wearing their school robes (though some of them were in regular robes that they obviously wore at home on a regular basis). I decided on wearing my favourite pair of jeans tomorrow with my favourite blue jumper. It's not supposed to be very warm, so I should be comfortable enough.

Part of me is hoping Hogwarts doesn't send me anything and that I have to make a trip to Diagon Alley to get an owl. I'm desperate to be back in the wizarding world again. Another part of me—the bigger part, obviously—just wants this uncertainty over my education to end.

31 July 1991: Wednesday

Well that was all a little anticlimactic.

I decided to wait an extra couple of hours after Mum and Dad left for work, because I figured that I should wait until the post arrived. I was walking back upstairs after watching a film in the living room and was just entering my bedroom when I heard a frantic tapping at my window.

There was an owl on the tree outside, and in its beak was an envelope addressed to me in the same green ink as my Hogwarts letter. My new note reads as follows:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

As of yet, we have not received confirmation on whether you wish to attend school in the upcoming term. Please send your prompt reply back with this owl.

Hoping to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I wrote a reply, but it was short. I said that my parents and I are happy to accept the offer and that I would have sent a message sooner, but I did not get an owl. I hope the owl that I sent my message with gets to Hogwarts fast. By the sound of it, Hogwarts is somewhere in Scotland. I don't know how fast owls can fly and I'm seriously doubting even a magical one can travel hundreds of miles before midnight tonight.

I think I might go to Diagon Alley still, even though there's no need. I really want to go back to the magical world.

1 August 1991: Thursday

I meant to write more yesterday, but I was so tired after my day out and Mum and Dad were both really suspicious, so I ended up neglecting you. Sorry for that.

So, as you may be wondering, I did take the bus to Charing Cross Road and ventured into Diagon Alley at around 12:00 pm yesterday. It was just as busy and packed as it was on my first trip, and I think I even spotted a giant wading through the crowd, helping a very small boy carry his school things. It was probably the most exciting thing I've seen in the wizarding world, because _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _talks about giants, and I never expected to see one here in London!

I didn't buy anything other than food. Instead, I forced myself to become completely familiar with every shop there. I explored Flourish and Blotts more, I entered stores I hadn't gone into last time under the guise of 'just looking', and even revisited Ollivanders to ask if it's strictly illegal to try any spells at home. Mr. Ollivander told me that it was, but that when I'm in places full of wizards, there was no way for the Ministry of Magic to tell who was performing what spell, so I wouldn't get in trouble.

That settled it for me. I haven't told you yet, but I've been dying to try out some of my spells from _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_ and _The Beginners Guide to Transfiguration_. I brought my wand with me to Diagon Alley, and when I went back to the Leaky Cauldron, I ordered myself some fish and chips (which actually ended up being quite good) and practiced on the salt cellars and spoons on the table and some of the doors of the inn. I practiced _Wingardium leviosa_, the levitating spell; _Alohomora_, the unlocking spell; _Lumos_, the light spell; and _Argenti forkus_, the spell to turn spoons to forks.

And would you believe it? They all worked! I _actually_ performed magic! Four times! My wand is no longer unused and I can now say with absolute confidence that there is no doubt in my mind over Hogwarts. This is going to be the best time of my life.

Of course, Dad and Mum were suspicious, because they saw me walking down the road as they were coming home. I stayed at the Leaky Cauldron a little too long. I lied to them, which I feel absolutely dreadful over, and said I was coming back from Samantha's after trying to patch things up. Which also makes me feel bad, because I should be trying a little harder to work on things with her. I'm just so angry over how she and her mother acted that day—but that's another entry for another day.

4 August 1991: Sunday

I've been doing a lot of reading in the last couple of days. I can't wait until I can actually be part of the wizarding world so I can write about doing something, rather than writing about reading things others have done. As fun as reading is, I'm starting to get impatient to go to Hogwarts.

Less than a month!

Anyway, one of the most shocking things I've learned is that ten years ago, there was another great wizarding war. It lasted for years on end and was even scarier than the one Grindelwald instigated, because Lord Voldemort (who everyone in the wizarding world calls You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, because they fear him that much still) was incredibly open about his intentions. He was merciless, not only targeting Muggles, but also Muggle-borns and wizarding sympathizers. Grindelwald, from what I've read, didn't really want to kill Muggles, he just wanted to control them—which is obviously horrible. But Voldemort was worse. He wanted them all dead and stopped at nothing to destroy them.

But that's not the most surprising bit of new information. Voldemort disappeared. He went to Godric's Hollow one night to murder a family and killed the parents, but when he turned his wand on their son, his powers were drained. Nobody knows what happened, just that he disappeared and the boy—Harry Potter, as he is called—survived his Killing Curse. He's the only known person to live through it.

And the most astonishing thing of all: this occurred on 31 October 1981 when Harry was a year old. He's eleven now, as of 31 July. Meaning he's of school age.

I might end up going to school with the most famous wizard in the whole world.

6 August 1991: Tuesday

I just read _Magical Drafts and Potions_ in eighteen hours. Quite honestly I'm exhausted, but I couldn't stop reading. Potions really does look interesting! Just as interesting, in fact, as Transfiguration. Ugh…I wish I were at Hogwarts so I can actually get some real experience with brewing. I can't imagine hauling my cauldron to Diagon Alley so I can practice there, so this is something that will have to wait until 1 September.

I tried telephoning Samantha again, but she hung up as soon as she heard my voice on the line. I'm starting to think we'll never be friends again.

I think after a nap, I might start on that other modern history book I have. I want to know more about Harry Potter, honestly.

8 August 1991: Thursday

_Magical Theory_! That's basically all I can say. It's a beautiful book that, though repeating some of the basic wand movements, is so very interesting. It covers all manner of topics, most of which I've questioned myself and have been dying to have the answers to. How magic can be found in Muggle families, how sometimes magic can skip generations in pure-blood families (creating what I think might be considered an offensive term, a Squib, or a non-magical witch/wizard), and how magic is something that you actually have to learn to control (hence the need for school).

It also talks about all the ways magic can be useful. The most interesting was how it can be used to hide the wizarding world from Muggles with concealment charms. That's how Diagon Alley, Platform 9 3/4 (the platform I'll take from King's Cross for school), and even Hogwarts is hidden.

The other modern history book didn't tell me much more about Harry Potter. It explained a bit more about…You-Know-Who (I feel uncomfortable even writing the name, especially after reading so much about him)…and he was terrifying. I can't even bring myself to tell you about it, it's so bad.

I thought that the more I'd read about You-Know-Who and the Dark wizards of the past century, the more frightened I'd be to enter the wizarding world, but I'm actually looking forward to it even more now. It's like there's an extra challenge for me to overcome. And as terrifying as that challenge is, I'm absolutely willing to face it if I have to.

Once again…I'm thinking Gryffindor.

12 August 1991: Monday

Mum wants to throw a going-away party for me. I keep telling her that no one is supposed to know about Hogwarts beyond our family, but she says that we can pretend I'm leaving for Welsley's. So far she's invited my Granny Granger, Grandmother and Grandfather Johnson, her brother Keith (and Maisy and Miles…ugh), and some of the dental hygienists from her office.

The worst part is that Mum wants me to invite Samantha. 'Well, she knows, doesn't she?' she keeps asking. I just don't have it in my heart to tell her that Samantha now thinks I'm a freak and wants nothing to do with me.

Maybe I'll make an invitation for her anyway? I would love to see her before I go to school. Also, it would get Mum to leave me alone about it.

24 August 1991: Saturday

2:38 pm

Party begins in just under two and a half hours. I just want it to be over. Granny Granger has been here since 7:00 and all she wants to talk to me about is my plans for the future.

'Do you know what you want to do after school?'

'No, Granny Granger. I'm eleven.'

'It's never too soon to start thinking about it, you know! With brains like yours, I think you could even get into Oxford or Cambridge!'

'I don't know if they'll be right for me…'

'Sure they will be! You could be a proper doctor, not a dentist like your parents!'

I try to humour her, but I don't like how she thinks about my parents' jobs. They love their dental practice and are quite happy with what they've done with their lives.

I'm not looking forward to seeing Miles and Maisy either. I can't pretend I'm going to Welsley's like we originally planned, because Maisy goes there, so now I have to pretend I'm going to Loveworth's in Dover. I've researched as much as I can about it (one of the reasons I haven't written in a while), but I'm afraid I'll just sound like I'm spouting off information I've memorised from the encyclopedia. Which, honestly, I have and it's not like that's any different from normal, but I don't want to sound like I'm lying. Which I will be.

I hate being dishonest. I just want this day to be over!

It's going to be okay, Hermione. In one more week, I'll be spending my last day here in Wandsworth. Then it's off to Hogwarts!

28 August 1991: Wednesday

Done reading all of my books. I can't even begin to describe all I've learned. There's so much more to being a witch than I ever imagined, even after seeing Diagon Alley and watching Professor McGonagall levitating my father into our sitting room!

The party went well, I suppose. Twice Maisy tripped me up and I nearly divulged my secret. 'I've never heard you talk about Loveworth's before!' she said very sceptically.

'Well, it's a new passion,' I lied. She sneered and I suddenly wondered if she might be a little magical too and could read my mind.

'What's this?' she asked later on, grabbing you off of my desk and flipping the pages experimentally. I snatched you up and turned beet red.

'Just my diary. It's silly.' Maisy looked keenly interested, as though she would give anything to read my diary, so I spent a good half an hour searching for a hiding place. I finally stuck you in a vent behind the piano, and unfortunately forgot to retrieve you until now. Sorry.

I've been so busy with reading and preparing. I already have my trunk packed with my robes neatly folded on top of most of my books. I left out _A History of Magic_—the last book I read—and _The Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, which I'm rereading. I don't know why, but I really want to impress Professor McGonagall, and I know that's the subject she teaches.

I might take out _Hogwarts, A History_ too. I think it would be the best thing to read on the train ride, since I want to re-evaluate my choice of houses. I still think Gryffindor would be the best, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to be placed into Ravenclaw. It won't be so bad, I suppose. I just don't want to live up to the reputation Ravenclaw's have. I like choosing to be intelligent—I don't want to have to actively be intelligent all the time. In Gryffindor, I'd be unique, I think.

1 September 1991: Sunday

3:39 am

I can't sleep. I leave for Hogwarts in just a few short hours. Mum and Dad sent me to bed early, because they want me awake by 8:00, but I can't even imagine falling asleep. I can't believe these are my last few hours in the Muggle world and that this time tomorrow I'll be living a whole new life.

For the first time ever, I feel confident. The students at Hogwarts must know what it's like for me; to be different and not fit in with Muggles. These people will understand me in a way no one else has before—not even my parents. I think I'll actually end up making friends at Hogwarts, friends who stand by me through thick and thin, because they know what it's like to be different too.

Speaking of which, I still haven't made up with Samantha. She popped in during my party, but only to give me a card. It said, 'Best of Luck,' and wasn't even signed. I tried to talk to her, but she bolted as quickly as she could. I can't say I'm surprised. After the way she's acted in the past month, I fully expect that I'll never see her again. It makes me sad, but I don't know what else can be done. I can't force her to be friends with me, so I suppose I'll just have to hope the time apart can fix our friendship.

Anyway, I'm going to read, I think. I'll try to update you on the train as much as I can (I doubt I'll be able to sleep there either, even if it is a long ride). Wish me luck!


End file.
